


the road less traveled

by thundersquall



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Alternate Universe - Farm/Ranch, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Prostate Massage, Prostate Milking, Rimming, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 14:56:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14239743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thundersquall/pseuds/thundersquall
Summary: There's a wagon parked in front of the farmhouse, with a guy standing behind it; as he draws closer, Patrick squints against the sun to see him better, and he registers three things all at once. The first is that the guy looks really young - around Patrick's own age, maybe. The second is that he's shovelling grain or something out of the back of the wagon, wielding the heavy shovel with ease, like it weighs nothing at all.The third is that he's, well, topless. And wearing nothing but a pair of dirt-stained jeans slung low on his hips. Like, Patrick canseehis abs and v-cuts even at this distance. The dude's biceps are literallyripplingeach time he lifts his shovel, gleaming with sweat in the summer sun.Patrick's mind manages to pull up a fourth item: he pretty much looks like the hot lonely farmer in every hot lonely farmer porno his teenage self has ever watched.the one where jonny's a farmer, patrick's still a hockey player, and, well, you know the rest.





	the road less traveled

**Author's Note:**

> honestly, this fic was mainly inspired by [this post](http://ao3tags.tumblr.com/post/169211262685/meet-his-chickens-and-then-say-hi-to-his-cock). cue lots of jokes with nuuclears about how pat meets jonny's chickens and his cock, and how jonny would plow his fields then plow pat, etc. i started writing it, but then i stopped after just a few paragraphs in and couldn't write for the longest time, but when the fic fest happened it was the perfect kick in the butt i needed to write it all.
> 
> thanks a million to heartstrings, nuuclears and MajaLi for reading this over for me - you guys are the best! and thank you hatrickane for organising the fest!
> 
>  **edit 10/06/18:** thank you so much to miss_malheur for making two (!!!) stunning graphics for this fic (one nsfw)! check them out [here](http://miss-malheur.tumblr.com/post/178791034793/theres-a-wagon-parked-in-front-of-the-farmhouse)!

Patrick thinks he must have taken a wrong turn sometime around an hour ago, because since then he hasn't seen a single road sign, car, or another human being. His phone's lost cell service about twenty minutes ago; all his swearing and fruitless jabs at the screen isn't making Google Maps come back, and he's surrounded by literal miles of nothing but wheat fields as far as he can see.

Fuck Canada. He should have flown in instead of driving.

"It'll be a _nice drive_ , they said," he mutters as he floors the gas. The faster he goes, the quicker he can probably find civilization again. "It'll be relaxing with great scenery, they said. It's not that far from Buffalo and once you're in Toronto you're halfway there anyway, blah blah. Fuck you, Sharpy."

The problem is he's not sure if he's even going in the right direction anymore, or just driving deeper into farm country where he'll probably end up in a wasteland and murdered by some serial killer. That would be, well, crappy, to say the least. The Blackhawks might dig his body up and kill him again just for that, if he gets murdered and doesn't come back for next season.

His car chooses that moment to emit a strange whining noise, and when he shakes himself out of his serial killer musings (which, really, is Duncs' fault for making him read that book), he notices that the needle on his gas gauge is dangerously low. 

Fuck _everything_. If his car runs out of gas on this long, lonely stretch of road, with no houses or people around for god only knows how far, and no cell service - 

He's already thinking about how long it'll take for people back in Buffalo or Chicago to realise he's missing and start sending out search parties when he suddenly sees it - a small dirt lane veering off the main road to the left, and a crooked little sign perched at the junction that reads: "Toews Farm - 3 km".

" _My saviour,_ " Patrick yells as he swerves into the lane. A farm! Civilization! _Wi-fi!_

He sees it pretty soon: a large brick building just off the road, the ubiquitous wheat fields stretching out behind it on all three sides, and a few other buildings dotted further back. There are a herd of cows grazing in the distance, and chickens in the front that scatter as Patrick slowly drives up. It looks like a fairly big and well-established farm, he thinks, which is great for him because it means they'll probably have wi-fi and not be creepy serial killers.

There's a wagon parked in front of the farmhouse, with a guy standing behind it; as he draws closer, Patrick squints against the sun to see him better, and he registers three things all at once. The first is that the guy looks really young - around Patrick's own age, maybe. The second is that he's shovelling grain or something out of the back of the wagon, wielding the heavy shovel with ease, like it weighs nothing at all.

The third is that he's, well, topless. And wearing nothing but a pair of dirt-stained jeans slung low on his hips. Like, Patrick can _see_ his abs and v-cuts even at this distance. The dude's biceps are literally _rippling_ each time he lifts his shovel, gleaming with sweat in the summer sun.

Patrick's mind manages to pull up a fourth item: he pretty much looks like the hot lonely farmer in every hot lonely farmer porno his teenage self has ever watched.

The guy lets his shovel drop as Patrick pulls up next to his wagon, and by god, now Patrick can see his face too, and it's almost criminal how good-looking the whole package is. He digs his shovel into the dirt and leans on the handle, and for - Patrick doesn't even know, it could be a few seconds, it could be several minutes - Patrick's absolutely distracted by the lines of his triceps.

Then he realises the guy's waiting for him to roll down his car window.

"Oh, shit," he says, jabbing at the button and watching as his window whirrs downwards. The guy's staring at him with a small smile playing about his lips and large dark eyes. How embarrassing.

"You lost?" he asks; his voice is deep, smooth, without much of an inflection or intonation at all, but he could be reciting a dictionary for all Patrick cares.

"Uh, yeah, kinda," Patrick says. "I think I took a wrong turn somewhere - and then I lost cell service - and my car's really low on gas - "

"Yeah, I figured," the guy says. "We get a few people here every month who get lost. You can get cell service and wi-fi in the farmhouse though."

"And gas?" Patrick asks. "Do you have - I can pay you for it - "

The guy waves a hand dismissively. "Don't worry about that - but I don't have spare gasoline on hand right now. One of the farm hands is buying some tonight when he heads back to town and bringing it back tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Patrick yelps. "But - I - "

The guy shrugs. "Sorry. But like I said, this happens fairly often up here. We've got spare rooms, and food, and you can use the bathroom and stuff, if you're able to wait it out until tomorrow. Are you in a hurry?"

"Not really," Patrick admits. "I'm driving up for a friend's wedding, but I gave myself a couple of extra days for the drive."

"Yeah, and it's not like you'd be able to drive all night through the night anyway, even if your car was full up."

Patrick nods. The last time he'd checked Google Maps, there was supposed to be a hotel along the route he was taking if he hadn't gotten lost, but at this point he figures an actual bed with food and water is far preferable to spending the night in his car while he waits to be rescued.

Plus, it's not quite a hardship to hang out for a few hours with this hot farmer, who seems friendly enough, and not on the serial-killer side of the humanity spectrum.

"Thanks so much," he says.

The guy tilts his head. "Not a big deal. I just need to finish getting this corn out, and then I'm done for the day. You want to head inside first? Freshen up or something? The bathroom's to the right when you enter."

"Uh, no, it's fine, I can wait," Patrick says awkwardly. "Or if you need help?"

"Nah," the guy says. "Might hurt yourself, if you don't know how to handle a shovel. It's not as easy as it looks." He lifts the shovel again with the same fluid ease Patrick had seen earlier; the muscles of his shoulders bunch up as he does, and Patrick can't help but stare, fascinated. The dude's built like a pro athlete. "Not even for hockey players."

Patrick starts. "You - you know who I am?"

"This is _Canada_ ," the guy says. "An NHL player appears at my farm - yeah, you bet I know who he is. I'm Jonny, by the way."

"I guess I don't have to introduce myself then," Patrick says feebly, and Jonny smiles.

\---

The thing is - Patrick's always known he's not into girls, ever since he can remember. It's not exactly something he hides amongst teammates and friends, but he's not out, not exactly - being a short, undersized first draft pick had put enough on his plate to prove, much less needing to cope with any media fallout and more nasty comments about his suitability for the NHL.

He never, ever picks up in Chicago, it's too risky, and not in Buffalo either, where he's far too recognisable. It basically means Patrick manages to get laid like, once a year, if he's lucky (hence the copious amounts of hot farmer/handyman/pool boy/et cetera porn he's avidly consumed). And now here's this walking wet dream of a farmer who Patrick genuinely wants to climb like a tree.

The only two major issues with this is that Jonny probably doesn't swing that way, and even if he does, he _knows_ exactly who Patrick is; that makes a potential hookup far too risky for Patrick to even try working out if there might be any bit of interest on Jonny's side.

\---

Jonny's surprisingly engaging; he's easy to talk to as well, and Patrick learns that Jonny owns the farm himself - he inherited it from his grandparents, who he used to spend summers with as a kid, and he knows every inch of the farm like the back of his hand. It's clear that he's proud of it as he rattles off about it to Patrick.

"Yeah, there's a large pond out to the northwest, and I have ducks there," he says, lifting the last of the ears of corn out of the wagon. There's a flock of chickens at their feet now, pecking their way amongst the corn that Jonny's piled up. "And you see the chickens here - they do have a coop over there right behind the farmhouse, but I let them wander about. And the cows are a hundred percent grass-fed, they graze freely all year except during the winter. No hormones or antibiotics or anything like that - I don't believe in giving that shit to animals."

"Right," Patrick says, nodding; it's not like he knows anything about farming or animal husbandry, but he does know it's a good thing to let farm animals be free range.

"We do mostly wheat and corn here, of course, just your usual staples, spinach and arugula in the winter - but nothing GMO, and I keep everything organic, no pesticides whatsoever. That stuff can really fuck up the environment, not just our bodies."

"Uh huh," Patrick says, nodding along.

Jonny gives him a sideways glance. "Sorry - you must be bored. I figure city people like you aren't all that interested in a little farm in nowhere, Ontario."

"Hey," Patrick says. "I didn't say I was bored - I'm not!"

"Oh, it's fine," Jonny says. "I'm done now anyway." He heaves the shovel into the wagon and then heads over to a spot just in front of where Patrick's car is, where there's a water pump. Patrick's mouth goes dry when Jonny turns the pump on and water comes spurting out, splashing across his unbelievable abs. 

Jonny catches more water in his palms, pours it over his upper arms, before sticking his head under the pump itself and then shaking it off. The drops of water running down Jonny's strong, tanned neck, gleaming golden even in the low light, is frankly obscene. Patrick _knows_ he's staring, but he can't stop. "I get carried away sometimes, you know? This was a pretty small operation when I got it. And now we supply meat, milk and grain to several of the largest organic chains in Canada. I'm pretty proud of it."

"You should be," Patrick says, swallowing against the dryness in his throat. "It's great what you've done with it."

"Thanks," Jonny says, straightening up. The water rolls down his body, over his pectorals and nipples, and Patrick tracks the droplets downwards until they soak into the loose, low waistband of his jeans. When he manages to wrench his eyes back up to Jonny's face again, Jonny's looking kind of - he's smiling, but there's a little frown between his brows, like he's simultaneously amused and bewildered by Patrick.

Fuck. He really needs to get himself together.

"Come on in," Jonny says, nodding at the farmhouse, before he turns and strides towards it. His back view is _magnificent_. 

God, Patrick _really_ wants to get fucked, and he's going to be so blue-balled. Of course he had to pull up at the one farm with the hottest farmer on both sides of the border, and not even get laid for his trouble.

"Fucking hell," he mutters under his breath, following behind Jonny.

\---

The farmhouse is large and well-equipped inside; Jonny explains that he lives alone in it while his two regular farmhands and their families live an hour's drive away, closer to town, but during the summer he hires up to ten more people at a time to help with getting the harvests in. "There are six other rooms, and they're all furnished with bunk beds and all that, so just take your pick later."

"Thanks," Patrick says, leaning back in his chair and sighing a little at the stretch in his stomach. Jonny had served up beef stew with a crusty baguette and cheese, left over from Jonny's lunch earlier in the day, and even though Jonny confessed he didn't cook it (it was one of his farmhands who had), it was still delicious, and Patrick had devoured everything in sight.

Jonny gets up to clear the plates, waving away Patrick's offer to help; he's stacking the plates and bowls, the utensils clanking loudly, when he suddenly, casually adds, "Unless, of course, you'd rather pick my bedroom."

For a moment, Patrick thinks all the noise the dishes are making is obscuring Jonny's words. "What?"

Jonny doesn't say anything at first; he doesn't look at Patrick either, keeping his head down and his focus on his task, and of course, that's right when Patrick chooses to notice that Jonny has lovely hands, big palms with long elegant fingers. Then he clears his throat, making Patrick start guiltily, and says, "Was I - I'm sorry, but I didn't think I was reading that wrong."

"Reading what wrong?" Patrick says. There's a tide of panic slowly rising in him, and he clenches his hands into fists under the table. His chair scrapes when he pushes back a little, unconsciously wanting to put more distance between himself and Jonny. Fight or flight. If Jonny knows - if he even _thinks_ Patrick's gay, and if he tells anyone else - Patrick will be screwed. His reputation and his career will be in tatters. And if he's obvious enough with Jonny, a perfect stranger, god knows how many men must have realised that he's gay, over the years - 

Jonny must see the alarm on his face, because he stops what he's doing, putting the utensils down carefully and holding his hands out in front of him, like he's trying to calm a trapped animal. "No, wait - listen, I'm sorry. I just saw that you were - and I thought, maybe - I don't read that stuff wrong too often. I mean, even if I wasn't wrong - I would never tell anyone. _Ever._ Please, I just need you to understand that."

"Oh my god," Patrick says, voice shaky. He knows, in a distant corner of his mind, that his reaction's pretty much tantamount to an admission, but he can't seem to speak. His voice sounds like it's been dragged over hot coals.

"Listen, Patrick," Jonny says, and he looks Patrick straight in the eye. "I know - I understand how important your life is to you, your image and your career - and I would never do or say anything that would jeopardise that. I swear. I'll sign something, if you want me to - but I'd _never_ out anyone. I wouldn't do that to anyone, whether they were an NHL player or not. So - I just - I mean, I thought you seemed like you wanted - and then, you know, we'd both just forget whatever happened - "

"How did you know?" Patrick blurts out; he's horrified by himself almost immediately, but Jonny's still staring at him, those dark eyes of his laser-sharp and intense, like he sees right through all of Patrick's walls and defences.

Jonny sighs. "You were looking."

"That doesn't mean anything. That could have been your imagination. Or your fucking ego, for all you know."

"Yeah," Jonny says. "But there's a difference between just looking, and really _looking_. And like I said - I'm not usually wrong. I can tell the difference."

"I - okay, yeah," Patrick says, swallowing. Reminds himself that he's not some blushing virgin; he has fucked dudes, thank you very much. Even if one of them didn't know who he was, and the other was a discreet friend of someone in his own small circle of trustworthy friends, and Jonny belongs to neither category. But - he knows it's utterly stupid of him, but there's a part of him that inexplicably thinks Jonny can be trusted, with the earnest, open way he's looking Patrick in the eye. Plus Patrick probably has some spare copies of his NDA in his car anyway that he could rustle up. "I mean - yeah. You weren't wrong. But I'd appreciate it if, you know. You kept this to yourself." He laughs a little, and surprises himself, kind of, with how bitter it sounds. "The NHL and its fanbase isn't exactly the warmest when it comes to gay players."

"I can imagine," Jonny says quietly. "I'm sorry." He looks down at the plates and cutlery he's been fiddling with all through their conversation. 

"Don't be sorry," Patrick says with a shrug. "It is what it is, you know?"

Jonny doesn't respond at first; he picks up the stack of dishes and strides towards the sink, cutlery rattling. Patrick stands up hesitantly, thinking that's it, they're done, the sad state of the league he plays in combined with who he is has completely put Jonny off any ideas he might have had, but then Jonny says, "My bedroom's on the second floor, it's the very last door to your left when you go up the stairs. But - like I said - only if you want it."

Patrick takes a long, slow inhale of breath, holds it for a couple of seconds, and lets it whoosh out between his lips. Jonny keeps his back to him and his head down as he turns the tap on and starts in on scrubbing the dishes, and he's still topless, so Patrick lets himself stare for a helpless moment at the lines of muscle across Jonny's tanned back, the bunching of his trapezius muscles and deltoids as he moves.

The wave of sheer want that hits him is so fierce he thinks he might choke with it. "I do want it," he says; his voice sounds soft and tentative to his ears, so he repeats it, louder and firmer. "I want it."

"Okay," is all Jonny says.

\---

Jonny makes him go up first, saying he needs to finish cleaning up quickly - and there are several long minutes where Patrick just stands awkwardly in the middle of Jonny's spartan bedroom, staring at the bed, rumpled and unmade like Jonny's just rolled out of it a few seconds ago. He doesn't know what he's supposed to do, but standing here just waiting for Jonny to come up and - and _fuck him_ , is literally humiliating. But at the same time, there are prickles of excitement sparking under his skin; he feels so jittery he can't keep still, shifting his weight from foot to foot restlessly.

After about five minutes of this, just as Patrick feels like he's about to burst from the anticipation, it hits him all at once: Jonny asked him to come up first so he'd have time to undress, or do whatever he needed, without Jonny being around so he wouldn't be embarrassed.

Okay, so at least he seems like a considerate guy.

The bathroom door is open, so Patrick steps through it gingerly and gropes around on the wall until he finds the light switch and flicks it on. It's small, but clean and functional, like much of the farmhouse itself, and Patrick starts to strip off slowly, folding his clothes up methodically as he goes, mind racing all the while with every pop of a button, the slide down of his jeans zipper.

Is he really going to do this? Sleep with some dude he doesn't know in Nowhere, Canada, but who _knows_ him? There's a big part of Patrick's brain that's screaming at him about what a big, stupid mistake he's making; but there's another part that's just really, really fixated on the way Jonny looks, all tanned and golden and warm, jeans so low-slung Patrick could see his deep v-cuts.

He looks down at himself and his cock's already chubbing up. Or maybe he's just been halfway there the entire day, the moment he laid eyes on Jonny.

Leaving his folded clothes on the sink, he climbs into the shower; he's got some vague thoughts about maybe prepping himself first, getting himself open and ready, but then he realises he's got no idea where Jonny keeps his lube, and just soaps up as quickly and efficiently as he can. Besides - this is the first time in _ages_ that he's going to get fucked, and if he's going to risk it all for a lay then he thinks he might as well let Jonny do all the work from the very start and enjoy it every step of the way.

Jonny's still not up when Patrick's finished cleaning himself; he looks around the room and decides that, rather than standing here naked and feeling foolish, he might as well get into Jonny's bed. And just - wait. To be fucked.

His skin's pebbling from the cool night air as he stretches out on his front; the sheets and pillows smell of Jonny and the soap Patrick just used in his shower, but it's not at all a bad smell, and Patrick lets himself sink into it. His cock's nestled in the soft bedding, and Patrick wonders how Jonny's going to do it - how it'd feel if Jonny fucked him like this, pressing him into the bed, letting him rub off on the sheets. 

There are footsteps outside the room, but before Patrick can move, Jonny raps twice on the door and waits a couple of seconds ( _good, nice, polite_ , Patrick thinks) before swinging it open.

"Hey, Patrick, can I - oh, _holy fuck_."

Patrick turns; Jonny's standing in his doorway, staring at him, Adam's apple jumping in his throat. There's a slight flush on his cheeks, spreading down his neck. Patrick rather likes the look of that.

"Okay," Jonny says at last, "this isn't quite what I thought you'd be doing - but, yeah, can't say I don't like the view."

The flush on Jonny's face and neck is deepening visibly as he stares at Patrick, and all Patrick can see in his eyes is sheer, unabashed admiration. Pat's not dumb - he knows he looks good, has a professional athlete's body and a great ass - and he decides to throw all caution to the winds. To hell with any false modesty, or fear; if he's going to do this, he's going to be in, all the way.

So he lifts his ass in the air, wiggling it a little, in a way that makes him feel slightly stupid but also somehow desperately, eagerly slutty for it. "Glad you do."

Jonny takes a step towards him - and then _stops_ , like he's not sure what to do. Patrick's about to tell him to get moving when Jonny drops his hands to his jeans and starts unbuttoning them, kicking them off, stepping out of his boxer briefs. He's already halfway chubbed up, just from looking at Patrick spread out naked on his bed.

Fucking hell, Patrick thinks, he's _big_. His mouth's actually watering. It's a really nice dick too, thickening up even more under Patrick's gaze, velvety head peeking out from the foreskin. There's a touch of precome on it making it glisten in the low light of Jonny's bedroom.

"Come here," he says insistently, rolling over onto his back and spreading his legs open; all the better to drink in Jonny's perfect body and perfect cock. "Come _here_ now."

Jonny laughs, a low rumble in his throat, and says, "You're eager, aren't you?" But there's no mocking in his tone, only a warm fondness, and it makes Patrick feel oddly - safe. Like he can allow Jonny to see the real him, inside and out, and not worry that he'll be judged or laughed at for being Patrick Kane, cockhungry NHL player who needs to be fucked because he's gone an age without it.

"I just - maybe," Patrick says, clearing his throat as Jonny climbs onto the bed and looms over him, caging him in right away with his arms and legs. God, Jonny's so much bigger than him, but instead of feeling threatened, he's loving it, feeling himself curl automatically into the cage of Jonny's body. 

Jonny rubs his thumb tenderly over Patrick's bottom lip; Patrick can hear his breathing pick up when he licks at it boldly and then sucks the tip of it into his mouth, tasting the salt-tinged tang of Jonny's skin. "Can I kiss you?" Jonny asks, and Patrick starts; he wasn't really expecting to be kissed, somehow.

"Go for it," he says, and winds his arms round Jonny's neck as Jonny leans down.

It's almost - sweet, really, the way Jonny brushes his lips over Patrick's first, whisper-soft, before actually kissing him properly, and Patrick lets himself sink into it, into the feeling of being held and hemmed in by a man who's bigger and stronger than him, and luxuriates in it. Jonny deepens the kiss and Patrick responds eagerly, feeling Jonny suck at his lower lip, and without really thinking he arches his back a little, grinding his cock into Jonny's stomach.

"God," Jonny says into his mouth, "you, you're just so - "

"So?"

" _Needy,_ " Jonny says, and his voice drops low and husky; Patrick feels it vibrate through him, and his cock gives up a little spurt of precome, smearing across Jonny's abs, just like that. Just from the way Jonny sounds, and the way Jonny looks down at him when he pulls back from his mouth, his dark eyes gone nearly black with want.

"I can't help it," Patrick says, swallowing against the dryness in his throat. "It's been - a while."

Jonny sits back on his knees; his big hands grip the backs of Patrick's thighs and push, just slightly, but Patrick gets the signal and allows his legs to fall open. He can feel his face grow hot, although he thinks that's more from how absolutely drunk on lust and the scent and sight of Jonny he is, rather than any sort of shame at how wanton he's being. Then he sucks in a quick, short breath when Jonny drops one of his hands between his legs to spread his cheeks open, and now he really does feel shameless, splaying his legs wide as Jonny opens him up to stare at his hole, but it's also making him grow harder than he can remember being in ages.

"You're so smooth," Jonny says, sounding almost awed, stroking his fingertips along Patrick's inner thighs and the base of his cock; Patrick sucks in a breath, holding himself back from pushing into Jonny's hands. "Do you - ?"

"Yeah," Patrick says breathlessly. "Yeah, I - keep myself groomed." He doesn't even know why he does it, to be honest, it's not like he has tons of sex - but he likes the look and feel of himself being smooth and bare, and even though getting himself waxed the first time was both horrifically painful and utterly mortifying, he's more than used to it now.

"I like it," Jonny says, and purposefully grinds his cock against Patrick's thigh, just so Patrick can feel how much he does like it.

"And - how long?" Jonny asks, but his question flies right over Patrick's head when Jonny trails his fingers along the crease of his ass, tips stroking over the soft, sensitive rim of his hole.

"Oh my god," he gasps, lifting his hips into Jonny's hands. "I - fuck, what'd you say?"

Jonny laughs and leans down to press a kiss against the tender stretch of skin between his inner thigh and his balls; Patrick has to suppress another gasp at the feel of Jonny's breath there. He's so sensitive, his skin prickly and goosebumped, and Jonny's barely even touched him, for god's sake. "I asked you how long it's been since, you know. Since someone fucked you." He punctuates his sentence by rubbing the pads of two fingers over Patrick's hole again, and - fuck, Patrick can barely think, he wants those fingers in him in the worst way. "Here."

"I - god, I don't know," he chokes. "Eighteen months? Twenty months? About two years, maybe. I - fuck, Jonny, I can't think when you're touching me like that."

The fingers stop; Patrick involuntarily pushes down against them before he realises Jonny's stopped moving entirely and is just staring down at him, mouth slightly open. 

"Two - shit, really, Patrick?" Jonny says, voice tinged with disbelief. "Two whole years? Jesus."

"I mean - I didn't have sex with anyone during that time - don't look at me like that, you know it's tough for me to hook up with a man when I'm - when I'm who I am," Patrick says. "But it's not like I have two solid years backed up in me, dude, I've used my fingers, I have toys, I have a couple of dildos - "

"Jesus christ," Jonny says again, and he leans over again to kiss Patrick, this time fierce and deep, like he's trying to devour Patrick or something. His body weight folds Patrick backwards so his knees are nearly at his shoulders, but whatever, Patrick goes with it, feeling Jonny settle between his thighs, his thick cock nestled against his ass. "I can't - that's so fucking hot."

"What," Patrick laughs against his mouth, "you've never heard of people using sex toys?"

"Not that," Jonny says, biting Patrick on his bottom lip gently and then soothing the sting with his tongue. "It's _you_. The thought of you fucking yourself on a toy, when you're like this, so desperate and gorgeous - shit, I can't believe you're doing this to me."

Patrick can't help but feel warm and flattered; this gorgeous, hot dude Patrick randomly met on a farm in Canada, looking at him with sheer unabashed want, thinking Patrick's sexy. He hasn't had that many partners, for obvious reasons, but none of them have ever looked at him the way Jonny does, like he's someone amazing and precious and also unbearably hot. "I'm not doing anything," he says.

"Yes you are," Jonny says, and then suddenly he sits up, shifting his grip to Patrick's ankles, pulling his legs open in a wide V, and then he gets his hands on Patrick's ass and just _lifts_ like Patrick weighs nothing more than an ear of corn or something, tipping him up. "D'you mind if I eat you out?"

"... Murgfh," is all that comes out of Patrick's mouth, embarrassingly, when he finally finds his voice. No one's ever done that to him, and his cock drools another trail of precome, just thinking of it.

"Okay, I'm taking that as a yes," Jonny says decisively, and licks a long, wet stripe from Patrick's sacrum all the way up to his balls, over the seam, and then over his cock, wet and sticky with precome.

"Fuck," Patrick says, and clenches his fists in Jonny's sheets. He's folded up on the verge of uncomfortable, his weight balanced in Jonny's hands holding him up and his shoulder blades, but he barely even notices it with the distinct wet feeling of Jonny's spit cooling on the skin between his cheeks. "I - oh my god, _Jonny._ "

Jonny sucks the head of Patrick's cock into his mouth, and for a second Patrick's mind literally goes on the fritz at the sight of Jonny's cheeks hollowing around him. Then Jonny pulls off with a pop, licks up his shaft and around his head again, and trails his tongue back down to his balls before sucking a kiss into the smooth, sensitive skin of Patrick's inner thighs.

Patrick knows he's moaning, and his skin is peppered with gooseflesh, and any other time he might be embarrassed at how noisy he's being, but god, Jonny somehow knows how to play his body like a fine instrument. 

Jonny licks and sucks his way to the soft, velvety spot at the base of his balls. "You're so fuckin' hot," Jonny murmurs, right into his taint, and Patrick feels it like a jolt to his spine. "So pretty and - god, I just want to get my mouth all over you. Lick you out until you're coming apart on my tongue, and then I'm gonna fuck you so good, you'll see."

"Oh my god," Patrick groans, nipples tightening. He reaches up unconsciously to pinch at one of them, and jerks against Jonny's mouth. "Do it - fucking _do_ it."

Jonny shifts his grip on his ass to open him up, and the next thing Patrick knows is the warm, wet, unfamiliar feel of Jonny's tongue against his hole. Jonny doesn't really do much at first, just licks over it slowly, up and down, licks around the rim for a few minutes, and it - feels good, but not quite the mindblowing sexual blackout experience Patrick had thought it would be when he's seen it in porn.

Then Jonny seals his mouth over his hole and works the tip of his tongue into Patrick, lips sucking at his rim, and Patrick's spine melts into jelly.

"Oh, fuck," he cries out, lifting his head blearily to look down at himself, pretzeled nearly in half and his cock dripping onto his abs. All he can see of Jonny between his legs are his dark eyes staring at him intensely; the entire lower half of his face is buried in Patrick's ass, and it's the hottest thing Patrick's ever seen, looking at and feeling what Jonny's mouth is doing to him. He reaches down to hold his legs behind his knees, pulling himself open even wider, and gasps when Jonny's tongue sinks a little deeper into him. "Yeah - yeah, like that."

"Mmm," Jonny says into his hole, like he's - fuck, like he's loving what he's doing to Patrick, and it's just getting Patrick even hotter.

"Come on," he says, seized suddenly with a surge of desperation that he's never felt before. "Don't stop, please." He thinks of taking his cock in hand, jerking off while Jonny tonguefucks him, but when he looks down at his dick, dark red and leaking like a faucet, he decides against it. He's going to make sure he comes on Jonny's tongue if it kills him, because he's never going to have it again.

Jonny, as if he knows exactly what Patrick's thinking, hoists him up even higher and just - really goes for it, licking into him like he's starving for the taste and feel of Patrick, and when Patrick looks at him dizzily his biceps and forearms are bulging with the strain of holding Patrick's weight up, but he doesn't even seem to care. He pulls back slightly to tease at Patrick's rim with the tip of his tongue and licks up and down, wet and sloppy, between his cheeks and over his hole, and waits for Patrick to choke out an embarrassingly hoarse "please, Jonny, _please_ " before he licks back in; it's literally all Patrick can do to not thrash about in Jonny's hold and make it harder for him, because fuck, it's so good. He totally understands what the big deal is about this now, all the nerve endings in his body narrowed down into that wet, tingling spot between his legs, clenching greedily around Jonny's tongue.

When Jonny pulls away again to take a breath, Patrick finds himself helplessly twisting in Jonny's firm grip on his cheeks, trying to get his mouth back where he wants it. "Wait, hold on," Jonny says; his voice is gravelly-rough, like he's really getting off on eating Patrick out just as hard as Patrick is on being eaten out. 

"No," Patrick gasps. "I want - "

"I know, just - hang on - "

Jonny lowers him gently onto the bed and then guides him to roll over onto his stomach; Patrick practically scrambles to do it, he's so unbearably eager, and lifts up on his knees while he keeps his torso flat to the bed. He probably looks like a whore, he thinks hysterically, offering himself up for Jonny like this; and then he reaches back to spread his cheeks open, his fingers slipping on the warm wetness of Jonny's spit, feeling even more slutty and somehow unashamed of it, and is rewarded with a throaty groan from Jonny behind him.

"You're going to fucking kill me," Jonny says.

"Get your mouth back on me and I won't," Patrick replies.

He feels Jonny's tongue against him almost before he's finished talking, and melts right into it, his body going limp and loose on the bed while he mashes his face into Jonny's pillow, panting. It smells like Jonny, earthy and musky, and he takes in deep heaping lungfuls of the scent while Jonny licks delicately around his rim with his tonguetip. He's so sensitive he's shivering with it, every swipe of Jonny's tongue zinging up his spine and through his body.

"I bet I could make you come like this," Jonny says against his skin. "Just on my tongue alone. You want that?"

"I - don't know if I can," Patrick gasps, trembling; he _wants_ it, but he's never even heard if guys can come from being rimmed. 

"Jesus, look at you though - you're so sensitive," Jonny says, and runs a gentle hand down his flank and over the swell of his ass, where Patrick knows his skin is rough with goosebumps. "I'm barely touching you and you're all shivery. I can make you come just like this, I know you can."

Patrick turns his face into Jonny's pillow. "Do it."

He digs his fingers tight into his own asscheeks when Jonny starts to lick over the heavy softness of his balls - and then his eyes jolt open when Jonny sucks gently at the tender stretch of skin between his balls and his hole. He sucks harder, tongue pushing against it, and Patrick's hands slip from where he's holding himself open to fist into the bedsheets, panting hard. He's probably making Jonny's pillow all wet with his saliva from the way he's panting and drooling, he thinks hazily; and then he stops thinking when Jonny slides two thick fingers into him. And Patrick wouldn't have thought it, but they go in so easy even though he's not lubed up, just from how wet and relaxed Jonny's tongue's made him.

"Oh fuck," he says - and that's the last coherent thing he says once Jonny slips his fingers in deep enough, angles them a little, and strokes across his prostate at the same time that he gives a particularly hard suck to that spot on his perineum outside in counterpoint.

He's dimly aware he's babbling, his face mashed into the pillow and his mouth restlessly chewing on it, but that's drowned out by the white hot sparks of pure pleasure surging through his body as Jonny rubs his prostate relentlessly. 

"My god," Jonny says, "you're quivering around my fingers, on my mouth, fuck, that's so hot - "

Patrick shudders, his entire body wound into a tense, tight string; there's a weird feeling of fullness in his lower belly that grows alongside with the pleasure, and it's a different kind of full from when he's being fucked or when he's got a toy inside him, but it builds until he thinks he needs to tell Jonny to stop for a moment. But abruptly, the fullness melts away into a warm, spine-melting rush of pleasure that makes him cry out; when he shifts on the pillow and looks down fuzzily at his spread legs, his cock hanging thick and heavy between them, he's drawn up short by the milky, sticky rope of fluid leaking in a long stream from the swollen, dark red head of his cock onto Jonny's bed.

"What the - " he says, gasping and trying to swallow against his dry throat.

"So good," Jonny praises soothingly, "you're doing amazing, Patrick."

He pulls his fingers out slowly; Patrick feels his hole clenching down on nothing, and then Jonny's tongue is back, working into his hole, his thumb pressing firmly against his taint again, right outside of where Patrick now realises is his prostate. He blinks his eyes blearily and looks back down at his dick, as a fat drop of thick white come splashes down onto the wet patch on the bed.

Now he recognises the waves of feeling rolling over him, building in his pelvis; he's going to come, even though it's different from anything he's felt before, and his cock is still leaking more than he's ever seen it, like his come is being pushed out physically by Jonny's insistent thumb and tongue. He twists his fingers into Jonny's sheets, hitching his hips up helplessly into Jonny's mouth, licking steadily into him in tandem with the pressure of his thumb, and it's only a few more seconds before the world explodes into white-hot sparks around him and he's shaking apart, slamming his fists into the bed, screaming and babbling while he shoots far enough for his come to hit his chin, cheeks, mouth. And Jonny hasn't even touched his cock.

His knees give way as his cock dribbles a last spurt of come and he flops bonelessly onto the bed, into the wet patch of his own warm come, but the aftershocks are still rippling through him even as Jonny gently rolls him onto his back and settles in next to him. Patrick can feel Jonny's hard cock against his thigh, and he knows he should probably like, return that amazing, intense orgasm Jonny just gave him somehow, but he can barely catch his breath. 

"What the - what the fuck was that?" he croaks, when he can make himself speak. He's still shuddering, and Jonny runs a hand down his flank and over the swell of his ass, fingertips just slipping into the crease, like he can't take his hands off Patrick's ass. When he turns to look at Jonny, the entire lower half of his face is gleaming wet with spit, and it's incredibly hot to Patrick, thinking of the way Jonny had looked between his legs, face buried in his ass.

"That was your prostate?" Jonny says, raising an eyebrow. "Did you - have you never had a prostate orgasm?"

"Obviously I have," Patrick says, "but - but not like _that_. Holy shit, Jonny. That was crazy intense. What in the world did you do?"

"I just - it's nothing special or new, it's just lots of prostate stimulation," Jonny says. Then he adds, tentatively, "But it was good, yeah?"

"Fuck, yeah," Patrick says. "Fucking _amazing_. But I mean - I've never experienced anything like that. Ever."

Jonny hums thoughtfully. "I don't know, you seem quite sensitive."

"I am!" Patrick says. "I mean like, I know that, I don't need to touch my dick to come if I've got something in my ass - sometimes I get on my dildo and ride it for as long as I can stand before I come and I know when it gets me right there, I know what a prostate orgasm does, but - oh my god. Nothing like that." 

Jonny groans abruptly and drags his hand down his face like he's exasperated, and Patrick's confused for a moment before Jonny says, "My god, you're going to kill me talking about sitting on your toys and shit. I can't - I'm sorry but I really need to fuck you right now."

"I thought you'd never ask," Patrick says. His body's still thrumming and he's not sure if he'll be too oversensitized, but his hole is loose and open from Jonny's tongue and fingers, he's pumped up on endorphins, and he thinks he'll be okay. "How do you want me?"

"This is fine," Jonny says, gently kneeing Patrick's legs open and settling himself in the cradle of his thighs. "I want to see you." He leans over Patrick to rummage in the nightstand; his cock bobs between them, and Patrick's eyes are drawn to it right away, because fuck, Jonny's enormous. His foreskin's drawn down with the wet, dark pink head peeking out, and it's probably the thickest dick Patrick's ever seen on a guy, widening in the middle. Patrick can feel his mouth involuntarily water as he imagines what it'd be like to suck a cock like that, to have his mouth stuffed full and Jonny fucking his throat. 

That's definitely something he'd like to revisit at another time.

Jonny pulls a roll of condoms out and Patrick shakes his head quickly. "Don't need that," he says. "I'm clean, you know I am - I just told you I haven't slept with anyone for ages."

Jonny frowns at him. "I know you are, but - you don't know I am. Jesus, Patrick, do you just take risks like this every time you hook up?"

"No," Patrick says truthfully; he's never gone bareback with anyone else, but there's something about Jonny he likes, and trusts. He figures a guy who lives way out in the boondocks with barely any other human beings around and yet keeps a supply of condoms on hand isn't exactly uncautious about sexual behaviour either, and he says so out loud. "Am I wrong?"

"You're not wrong," Jonny admits. "Are you _sure_ , though?"

"One hundred per cent," Patrick says, and he takes the condom packets from Jonny, tosses it over the side of the bed without even giving them a second glance. He's prickling with excitement; he's always wanted to know what it feels like to be fucked skin on skin, without the unnaturally smooth sheath of a condom between him and a guy, how it feels to have a guy come inside him. "Get your lube."

Jonny strokes his hand gently down Patrick's chest like he's calming a wild foal, as if he knows Patrick's nearly turning himself inside out with anticipation, and leans back over him to dig around in his nightstand again.

"Let me do it," he says when Jonny finds the tube of lube he's looking for; he sits up and lets Jonny squeeze some into his cupped palm. Then he smears it liberally over the head of Jonny's cock, watching as Jonny sucks in a sharp breath, and strokes down the shaft, circling it with a dexterous twist of his wrist as he does so. His fingers barely meet around the thickness of it, and that alone is enough for Patrick's dick to start filling again slowly. There's nothing he likes more than having a fat cock stretch him open and keeping him full.

Jonny's staring down at his hand working slowly up and down his cock, his breathing going fast and audible in the quiet of the room. "Your fuckin' hands," he says, hoarsely. "Do you know, I've always liked watching you play - your hands, fuck, they're magnificent."

Patrick feels his cheeks heat up at the praise, and looks up at Jonny through his lashes. "You ready?" he asks, giving Jonny's dick one more stroke before he lies back down. There's lube remaining on his fingers and palm, and he reaches between his legs, dipping his fingers into his hole, still soft and open and wet from Jonny's mouth. He's a little astonished at how eager he is now, after the way he just came. He rubs as much of the residual lube inside himself and around his rim as he can, and bites his lip at the way Jonny's eyes go nearly black as they zero in on the sight of his fingers disappearing into himself.

"I'm ready," he says breathlessly. He runs his palm over his cock, shuddering at the sensation - just a little on the edge of too much on his still-sensitive cockhead, slowly swelling and thickening again - and draws his legs up, spreading them wide and watching as Jonny kneewalks his way between them, looming over him, caging him in with his bulk. God, Jonny's big. Patrick's always liked his men bigger than he is, but Jonny's hot in an entirely different league of his own, every muscle in his body honed from hard work on his farm.

Jonny shifts around a little until Patrick can feel the head of his cock nudging against his hole, so close to where he needs it to be. "Can I kiss you?" Jonny asks, as if he didn't earlier, and Patrick gets confused for a second before he realises Jonny thinks he might not want to after he'd eaten him out. As if Patrick would say no.

" _Yes_ ," he says emphatically, leaning up to kiss Jonny, letting Jonny swallow the soft moan he lets out when he pushes in. Fuck, but there's nothing quite like this, the breath-stealing feel of a fat cock prying him open inch by inexorable inch, filling him up to the hilt, Jonny forcing a space for himself inside the tight clutch of Patrick's body. By the time Jonny bottoms out, he's gasping into his mouth, clinging on to him with his fingers digging into Jonny's biceps and his legs curled loosely around Jonny's hips.

"You good?" Jonny asks, pulling away to nose along the sharp edge of his jawline. He bites gently into the skin under the hinge of Patrick's jaw before sucking on it, and Patrick thinks Jonny might end up giving him a hickey, but he finds that he doesn't really care.

"So good," he says, arching his back into it. "C'mon, Jonny - move."

Jonny does - and Patrick squeezes his eyes shut, breathes through it as Jonny tugs himself out almost to the end before fucking back in, the thickness of his cock pressing his rim wide open with each stroke. But it's good, it feels good, and it gets even better when Jonny sits up to get his hands on his hips and lifts Patrick a few inches off the bed, stuffing his cock in as deep as he can go. The change in angle gets Jonny's cock pressing perfectly over his prostate, and Patrick cries out loud at the contact; it sends sparks shooting anew through his body, tingling in his fingers and belly and nipples and hole.

"Oh shit," he moans when Jonny starts to fuck him in earnest like that. It's so incredibly hot to be able to watch Jonny fucking him, when Jonny's lifting him like that with seemingly no effort except for the straining in his thick arms and the way his abs stand out on his stomach, and his cock stroking over his prostate again and again along with the visual is turning Patrick's spine to mush.

"You have the best cock ever," he babbles deliriously; he knows, dimly, that he sounds totally drunk and off his head, but that's exactly how he feels, like he can't even think anymore from how good Jonny's fucking him. "The _best damn cock ever_ in the whole world - yeah, there, right there Jonny - "

Jonny just laughs, a hoarse smoky rumble in his chest, and says, "Oh, glad you think so", before snapping his hips into Patrick with renewed vigour, as if he wants to see just how much he can break Patrick's brain with his perfect dick.

And - it's crazy, but Patrick's fully hard now and back to leaking on his belly, his dick glistening with clear drops of precome that drip slowly onto his abs with every push of Jonny's cock into him. He hadn't even known he could get hard again so soon after he'd come, much less be close to coming already. Jonny slows down, gets his hands on Patrick's ankles, and pushes his legs back far enough for his knees to hit his chest, gets him wide open, and sinks in a little more, impossibly deep.

"Yeah, shit," Patrick moans. "Oh my god - so good, you feel so good, don't stop." He reaches down to where Jonny's in him, wanting to feel how deep Jonny's inside, and hears Jonny choke out a groan when he strokes around his swollen, stretched rim with his fingers. "God, you're so big. Fuck."

"You are driving me crazy here," Jonny says hoarsely, and pulls out slowly so Patrick can feel the drag of it, as if his body's reluctant to give up its tight, clinging clutch on Jonny's cock, can feel the length and width of it with his fingertips as it goes. He pulls all the way out and Patrick can feel his hole gape open for a moment, greedy for nothing, and sinks four fingers inside himself before Jonny can fuck back in, shameless and desperate and slutty for it. He's so open and wide, it's so easy; his hole swallows his fingers like they're nothing, and Patrick could choke with how badly he wants to stay here for the rest of his _life_ just being fucked and filled by Jonny and his big cock.

"Jesus fucking _christ_ ," Jonny says; he's panting now, and it takes Patrick a moment to realise he's said all that out loud. "You're just - you are so goddamn _hot_. Get your fingers out, out now, I need to get back in you - "

Patrick slides his fingers out obediently and Jonny crams his cock back in even before he's got his hand out of the way; he fucks right up against his prostate and Patrick shouts, back arching, as his vision blurs. Jonny keeps on doing it, fucking into him relentlessly, until he's moaning and crying some words at Jonny, he doesn't even know what; but when he lifts his head to look down at himself, his cock is leaking a steady stream of come again, a thick white rope spilling onto his stomach and over his belly button, slowly making its way down in rivulets to his chest.

"Oh shit, oh god," he says, panting; he can't believe it's happening again, but it's growing now, that same slow, toe-curling build up deep in his lower belly from earlier. He runs his hand shakily through the mess on his stomach, rubs his trembling, come-slick fingers over his taut, peaked nipples, and watches as his cock drools yet more come, thick and pearlescent, with every thrust of Jonny's hips. "Jonny - I think I'm gonna - "

"Yeah, fuck, come for me, I wanna watch you," Jonny says, his voice like gravel and his cock pressing into all the right parts inside Patrick, lighting him up. 

The wave that rolls over Patrick is so bone-shakingly intense that Patrick almost doesn't realise he's coming at first; it's almost like an out-of-body experience as he watches his cock swell, darkening to a deep blood-red, and the come start pulsing out of it in spurts that slowly strengthen rather than in a long, steady stream. Then it really _hits_ him; the world tilts and spins and goes black for several long seconds as pure, unadulterated pleasure crests and surges in every nerve ending, and when he next blinks his eyes open he's still screaming from it, his throat sore, just yelling Jonny's name over and over as his hole clamps down tight enough on Jonny's cock that he stops moving entirely..

"Fuck," Jonny chokes out, "you - that's so fucking hot, wish I could keep you like this forever on my cock so I can keep making you come over and over -"

Patrick tries to say he wouldn't be opposed to that, but his muscles don't seem to be obeying him any longer, and the next moment Jonny groans low and deep and shoves himself in hard, and through his bleary, unfocused eyes Patrick can tell Jonny's coming too, the cords on his neck and veins on his arms standing out as he empties himself into Patrick.

"God," Jonny says, sounding stunned. He pulls out slowly, carefully, and it's only then that Patrick registers how sore and stretched he feels. But it's a good sore, the way he feels after a five-point game or a triple overtime win, and it only gets better when he feels Jonny's come spill out of his empty, fucked-open hole, warm and wet and soothing. He runs a gentle thumb over Patrick's swollen rim and the mess between his legs, and Patrick sucks in a breath, overly sensitive.

"Wait, I'll get you cleaned up," Jonny says, and presses a quick kiss to Patrick's lips before he climbs out of bed. He stumbles as he does so, and Patrick can't help but feel smug. He did that, he thinks. He took Jonny's cock and made him come. Made his knees go _weak_ , like Jonny did to him.

He's aware that he's getting really tired, his mind in a jumble and the world floating in a haze around him, and decides to just - shut his eyes for a second, just until Jonny comes back. Then he'd really like to maybe cuddle. Jonny seems like he'd be as great at cuddling him in those big arms, just as great as he is at fucking.

Instead, he drifts right off to sleep, and doesn't even wake up when Jonny comes back with a wet cloth and wipes him down as best as he can. But he does struggle awake when Jonny gets into the bed behind him, drawing the blankets up to their chests and wrapping his arms around Patrick, drawing him close against him.

"Uh huh, you're good at cuddles," he mumbles dizzily, and barely hears Jonny's low laugh or feel the kiss he lays at the nape of his neck, over his curls, before he's asleep again.

\---

Sometime during the middle of the night, Patrick wakes up to feel Jonny's fingers stroking into the crease of his ass, the tips of two dipping into his hole, just an inch or so deep. "Hmmm?" he says hoarsely, but pushes back into the touch, like his body needs it and has a mind of its own.

"I'm sorry," Jonny whispers. "I didn't mean to wake you. Just wanted to feel you."

"S'okay," Patrick says sleepily. "Keep going." He hitches his leg up to give Jonny better access, and Jonny slides his fingers in deeper; he's still wet and open from Jonny's come before, there's no difficulty for Patrick to take them.

Jonny fingerfucks him slow and gentle, nothing like the wild urgency of before, this time skirting carefully around his prostate and only stroking over it delicately with the lightest of touches, and it still makes Patrick groan and clench up, right on the cusp of too-sensitive. When he's nearly there, Jonny stops to turn around and arrange them top and tail, so he can suck Patrick off while he fingers him; and Patrick turns blindly, mouthing at Jonny's big cock, sticky and wet at its tip. He licks eagerly at it, tasting the salt tang of Jonny on his tongue before he sucks Jonny in, feels Jonny's cockhead bump right up against the back of his throat.

He comes like that, with three of Jonny's fingers knuckle-deep in him and Jonny's mouth on his cock; it's not as strong or as intense as the first two times, but it still makes him curl into himself and moan around Jonny's cock, and Jonny comes at almost the same time, spilling down Patrick's throat, Patrick sucking greedily at him.

"Sorry," Jonny says again, bundling Patrick into his arms again; Patrick settles in like he belongs there. "I really didn't want to wake you."

"Are you kidding?" Patrick says, flapping his hand sleepily at him. "Best sex I've ever had. No regrets."

Jonny laughs behind him, and Patrick slips easily and quickly back into sleep.

\---

Patrick wakes up the next morning in complete silence.

He blinks, disorientated for a moment; the curtains are drawn and there's just a sliver of sunlight coming in, and it takes his eyes a while to focus enough to take in his surroundings. Then everything comes rushing back - Jonny. The farmhouse. And the fact that he came _three times_ last night. Jesus.

He sits up and winces immediately at the ache in his muscles and the twinge in his hole; his mouth is sticky and bone-dry and his throat furred from dryness. God, he feels - great, actually. Sore all over, and he knows his hole is going to hurt for days, and he's still sticky and the sheets must be filthy, but he feels better than he has in months, probably years. He can't even be embarrassed at the way he acted last night, when he was hot and desperate for Jonny's cock. He already knows it's a night he'll look back on fondly for - the rest of his life, probably; it's not as if hot farmers who can give good dick grow on trees in Chicago.

Jonny himself is nowhere in sight; the spot next to Patrick is empty and cool, the door shut, and Patrick can't hear anything. Then he realises that Jonny's probably back at work on the farm already. Shit, he kept Jonny up half the night, and Jonny had to go right back out and do backbreaking work.

But there's a glass and a bottle of water on the nightstand that weren't there the night before, and Patrick smiles to himself as he pours and drinks three glasses in quick succession. Jonny's the most considerate guy he's been with; sure, it's not like he's got a big sample size to work with, but he's pretty sure this level of thoughtfulness isn't common amongst one night stands.

He climbs out of bed and limps his way to the bathroom where he takes a quick shower; his entire body still feels afterwards like he's been put through the wringer, but it's not enough to dampen the warmth of the post-sex glow he feels like he's got going on. His clothes are still where he left them last night, and he pulls his shirt and jeans back on before he fishes his phone out of his pocket and checks it. It's already past noon, and there are about a million messages from Shawzy, checking on where he is. Fuck, he'd forgotten to text Shawzy where he was last night.

He shoots off a quick message. _I'm fine bro. Got lost somewhere and ran out of gas but found a farm and spent the night. The guy who owns it is gonna get gas for me and send me off soon. Ttyl._

As soon as he sends it, he feels an abrupt sense of cold dread. He's going to have to leave, and he'll probably never see Jonny or the farm again after this; and it's stupid, but he feels like - he doesn't want to. He knows he _has_ to; he has a life as a hockey player, and Jonny has his farm, and they're worlds apart in Chicago and Ontario, but there's - something, that's giving him a very strong feeling that he can't just walk out of Jonny's life. 

_Stop it,_ he scolds himself sternly. _You met this guy one day ago and you're getting clingy. Stop._

He makes his way out of the bedroom, stepping gingerly down the stairs as he goes. 

Jonny's not in the kitchen either, but there's a plate of food covered in clingwrap on the kitchen table - sausage links, scrambled eggs, tomatoes, asparagus, with toast and a rocket salad on the side. There's a note next to the plate, and Patrick picks it up.

_Patrick, this is for you. I'll be in the field behind the farmhouse when you're done eating._

Fuck. Jonny is so nice, and it makes that weird knot of longing in Patrick's chest weigh even heavier.

The food's cold already, but Patrick wolfs it down anyway, and then goes out to look for Jonny. He's right where he said he would be, at the far end of the field that edges the back of the farmhouse; Patrick can see him against the sun, bent over and shirtless again, and when he walks close enough he can see Jonny surrounded by stacks of hay, tied into enormous bales, with a hay baler rumbling a little way away. He's dripping wet with sweat, droplets running down his chest and abs. Patrick's reminded of the way those abs looked when they tightened and flexed as Jonny was coming inside him.

He clears his throat. "Uh, hey," he says awkwardly.

Jonny looks up - and the smile that spreads over his face at the sight of Patrick is so inexplicably, irrepressibly fond that Patrick can't help but smile back.

"You're up," he says, running the back of his hand across his sweaty forehead. There's a streak of dirt left after, and Patrick wants to wipe it off for him. "How're you feeling? Not too bad, I hope."

"A little sore," Patrick admits, "but nothing that's, you know. Bad."

Jonny's smile widens. "That's great. Did you eat?"

"I did. Thanks for the breakfast - and the water too, really needed that."

"Figured you did," Jonny says. He stands looking at Patrick for a while; there's a long moment of silence in which Patrick's not sure if he should speak, or go away, or what, but then Jonny says, "And I got my guy to put gas in your car. You should be all set now, if you - if you need to go. I can drive my truck while you follow, get you to the right place to - start back on your route."

If Jonny hadn't stuttered at the end, if he hadn't sighed the smallest sigh that Patrick almost missed, Patrick would think Jonny genuinely, really wants him to leave as soon as possible, like he really considers Patrick to be nothing more than a one-time lay.

As it is, it's making him think, especially when he meets Jonny's eyes and Jonny's gazing at him like he never wants to look away, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he swallows hard.

He takes a step forward and twines his arms around Jonny's neck, unheeding of the perspiration and dirt on him. "Thank you," he says, and rises on his tiptoes to kiss Jonny on the lips.

Jonny's ears are beet-red when they separate; he keeps one hand on Patrick's hip when Patrick finally drops his arms, as if he's unwilling to stop touching him or let him go. "What was that for?" he asks, licking his lips, and Patrick wants to kiss him again, so badly.

"I don't know," Patrick says. "I guess I - sort of, maybe, don't really want to leave? But that's stupid, isn't it?"

Jonny looks at him, saying nothing, and Patrick asks again, quietly, "Is it?"

There's another pause. "No, it's not," Jonny says, shaking his head slowly. "But - you know you have to, right?"

"I know," Patrick says, biting his lip. "I know I have to. I just don't want to."

Jonny squeezes his hip, rubs his thumb over his jeans at the jut of his hipbone. "Yeah. Me too."

\---

His car tank is filled to the brim, and Jonny even gave him a paper map, with his route outlined in black marker. "Just in case you get somewhere without a signal again - pretty common in these parts." He's also driving his truck, Patrick following close behind, until Jonny pulls over a little distance away from where Patrick's supposed to drive out to the highway.

Jonny gets out of his truck and leaves it idling on the road shoulder; Patrick winds down his window as he approaches and bends down to look into his car. "Thanks again," he says, looking up at Jonny's dark brown eyes, startlingly tender in the dimness of his car.

"No need," Jonny says. "Drive safe. And - here's my number. Call me if you need anything, okay?"

Patrick takes the piece of paper Jonny holds out and looks down at the number at it, scribbled in thick black ink. "Yeah."

"Bye, Patrick," Jonny says, and leans in to kiss him once more, soft and sweet; Patrick has to grip his steering wheel hard enough for his knuckles to go white when Jonny finally steps back from his car, just so he won't grab Jonny and never let go.

"Bye," he says, and puts his car into gear.

The last thing he sees before he turns onto the highway is Jonny still standing at the spot where his car had been, shading his eyes against the glare of the sun, waving goodbye. 

\---

He finds his way to the place where Shawzy's wedding is going to be held without any incident after that, and with solid help from the map Jonny had given him, and arrives the evening before the ceremony with time to spare.

It's a great weekend; Patrick catches up with old and current Blackhawks, jokes around with Shawzy and Sharpy, takes their ribbing about him getting lost good-naturedly, and the wedding itself is beautiful. But throughout the next three days he can't stop thinking of Jonny, and wakes up once in the middle of the night to a dream of Jonny fucking him, his cock rock-hard and every nerve in his body aching for Jonny.

The night before he's due to leave and drive back to Buffalo, he's in the midst of drinks with the team and their assorted wives and girlfriends when he looks around at the table and sees everyone around him paired up and snuggled against their partners, and is hit with a wave of loneliness so strong he almost chokes.

"Be right back," he says to Sharpy, who's sitting with Abby and Maddy next to him and holding Sadie on his lap, and finds a quiet corner where he can pull his phone out and scroll through his contacts until he reaches Jonny's number, where he'd saved it after Jonny had given it to him.

He types a simple _I miss you._ , and sends it before he can think better of it. He holds on to his phone for a minute, staring down at it, biting his lip; and then he nearly jumps when it lights up with a message.

 _Miss you too_ , is all it says, and right away Patrick's suffused with so much warmth that his chest feels fit to burst. Jonny's thinking of him too. Fuck.

\---

He doesn't drive or fly back to Buffalo. He uses the map Jonny gave him to find his way back to the farm.

His heart is pounding as he drives up that dirt lane with the Toews Farm sign; the stone and brick of the farmhouse appears before long, and there Jonny is right there, in front of his tractor, shoveling away at something, exactly as he'd been doing when Patrick had pulled up lost five days ago. The sense of deja vu is so strong that it makes Patrick feel a little disorientated for a moment; but then he draws to a stop next to Jonny, and watches as Jonny's head swings round and his jaw drops at the sight of Patrick's car and Patrick himself, stepping out of it.

"Hey," he says. "I'm back again, I guess."

"Patrick," Jonny breathes. "You - what are you doing here?"

"Came back after my friend's wedding," Patrick says, shrugging. "I was supposed to go back home, but. I didn't want to leave yet, I told you."

"Oh my god," Jonny says roughly; he closes the distance between them in two strides, and the next thing Patrick knows is he's pressing Patrick against the side of his car, tipping his chin up to kiss him, and Patrick feels his knees tremble and go weak at the feel and scent of Jonny against him.

"You're crazy," Jonny says, when they break apart for air, but he's breathing hard and his eyes are sparkling and there's no heat in his tone at all.

Patrick hesitates, and then reaches for Jonny's hands, gripping them tightly. They're rough and calloused like Patrick's own, dusty with soil, and Patrick holds on for all he's worth. "Listen - I know it's insane. We barely know each other, we don't know anything about our lives, and - tell me if I'm nuts, but I feel like - like this is right, somehow. Am I crazy for thinking this?"

"No," Jonny says right away without hesitation, gazing steadfastly down at him, and Patrick exhales in slow relief. "No, you're not - I can't explain why, but I feel the same. Like this is right."

"And it's gonna be so tough," Patrick says. "We barely know each other, and you live here, and I live in Chicago, and I have the world's worst schedule with my games and shit - and there might be times when we'd go without seeing each other for months - but I'm going to try my best. I'll fly up when I get breaks. You can come visit me in Chicago, maybe, if you're not too busy. I can - "

"Shh," Jonny says, cutting him off with another kiss. "I don't - it's good enough, if you want to try. I want to try too."

"It'll be so hard," Patrick says, trembling despite the heat of the afternoon sun. It's - such a huge step, and even as he thinks about it now, he realises how difficult it's going to be for them both to have any semblance of a relationship or even do something as casual as dating when they live so far apart; and that's not even taking into account the fact that he's a closeted NHL star and he's going to need to come out eventually, because he's not going to keep Jonny as his dirty little secret if this actually goes anywhere.

But at least both he and Jonny are recognising that there's something special at work here between them, and they're both willing to give it a try, and he thinks that's good enough for now.

"So - you want to at least stay here with me for a while? Since it's the summer?" Jonny asks tentatively.

"Definitely," Patrick says, and smiles, and kisses Jonny again, with the sun beating down on them both and the chickens pecking around their feet and the smell of corn and hay all around them; and Patrick can't think of any place he'd rather be.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on [tumblr](http://kanerboo.tumblr.com)!


End file.
